


Crunching Numbers

by ghostking



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, DIYstoreAU, Fluff, Jasico - Freeform, M/M, Nicocentric, PJO, POV Second Person, there are tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:18:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostking/pseuds/ghostking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Learning that acrylics are on aisle 3 and wood planks are on 18 is very hard when a certain cute boy's jawline is so sharp it belongs next to the saws."</p><p>*highly inspired by jianggu's chef au on tumblr, which can be found at happy-birthday-u-nerd.tumblr.com*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crunching Numbers

It's 6:45 am and the only thing getting you out of bed is the "$10 an hour" viciously circled in red under your calendar.

You gently bang the sidetable in a sad attempt to snooze the alarm (Supremacy by Muse because if you're going to be woken up it might as well be quality) before rolling over and groaning into your pillow, seriously doubting the legitimacy of delayed gratification. Because as of right now, you're an unapproachable basketcase who signed up for a DIY store job when you'd rather watch low-qual porn and bunk off.

The promise of extra spending money is enough for you to roll (gracefully) out of bed and throw on whatever black jeans and low-cut t-shirt is laying around, because looking like a funeral attendee can still be stylish. You spend approximately 'too much time' fussing with your hair before deciding the mess adds character, and to hell with first impressions.

By the time you reach your new workplace, it's 7:30, the predictable London fog has seeped into your bones, and your face looks more like a tomato than a 17-year-old Italian boy.

It's at this point you realize you are the least credible person to have landed this job, seeing as the last time you tried to use a hot glue gun it uneventfully leaked all over your carpet (where it will happily reside forever) and you're not very excited to try again, much less be trusted with a lawnmower. At this rate, you'll commit manslaughter by coloured pencil before being promoted.

"First day," you think, and pull the door open to an empty store, "just get through today."

Your right to unreasonable concern is very rudely interrupted by an obnoxiously jaunty white boy, who looks more like a linebacker than a home improvement store associate.

"Hello," he smiles, and you want to hate him so badly, but your mouth betrays you.

"Hey," you mumble, "'m nico."

Number 5 (your favourite number, and apparently what you nickname this warm and friendly and completely unattractive blonde guy) looks adorablyーpleasantlyーconfused for half a second, before breaking out into an even bigger grin.

"Hey! Welcome to the work force!" You try not to look into his stereotypically crisp blue eyes (vomit), and focus on a vertical scar on his top right lip.

"Shaving accident?" you think, before zoning back in to Number 5's buoyant voice.

"I'm Jason Grace," he says, pointing to a nametag littered with employee achievement badges. "I'll probably be monitoring you while you get settled in."

You try to maintain your sarcastic, fuck-all chav attitude, but really, all your energy is being spent trying to not get a boner in the first ten minutes of your career.

Learning that acrylics are on aisle 3 and wood planks are on 18 is very hard when a certain cute boy's jawline is so sharp it belongs next to the saws.

But you pass training, though it's less about the money and more about the people. Or person.

* * *

Fast forward three months and you are now an official member of location 431's floor staff, and more importantly, the proud owner of the seat next to Jason in the lunchroom.

You are surprisingly happy about 8 things:

1) That you, in fact, have NOT been fired, though you steer customers in the wrong direction on a daily basis

2) The amount of elderly women on the staff who innocently gossip about you and Jason's "budding romance" behind your back (honestly, you're more surprised these old women are so liberal)

3) How much the "ability to lift 50 pounds requirement" has been put to use, and the minorly pleasing effect it's had on your arms

4) The tiny eagle tattoo on Jason's left wrist

5) The way Jason sometimes brings his deliciously unhealthy brownies because he knows you'll finish the whole tray and you "should really eat more"

6) The time you slipped up and called Jason "Number 5" to his face, thus resulting in an extremely embarrassing explanation (you're still not sure who was blushing more) and his inability to "LET IT GO JACE AND STOP BOTHERING ME ABOUT IT"

7) The fact that Jason is not, will not be, and never has been a football player

7a) Though he certainly has the body for it

7b) Not that you would know

7c) It's just that one time your bus was delayed so when you walked in slightly later and considerably more bedraggled than usual, Jason hugged you very tightly with those strong shoulders and firm abdomen. And after apologising profusely for the hug (he didn't know what came over him), he very politelyーplatonicallyーsaid he was so glad you came because he could not survive a day without you.

8) Jason fucking Grace

So in short, it's been good.

* * *

The first time you notice anything is up is when Jason faux casually asks about your sexual orientation. You nearly choke on your vitamin water. He chokes on his words.

"What?" Jason asks playfully, before backtracking, "...like I totally support everything and if you're gay that's cool cause I'm alsoー"

You burst out laughing, "No, no, Jason, it's fine. Really."

He looks mildly panicked and you flash a lopsided grin, "What gave it awayーthe V-neck t-shirts or the fact that half my paycheck is going towards my cologne?"

"Neither," he says, "just an inkling."

"Well, you guessed right," you say and despite your best efforts, you beam.

* * *

The second time you notice something is up you're off on a tangent about "No, Jace, were you even listening?! You can't play Athena first because her tactic strategies are like a GAJILLION times more powerful after round 10" and Jason gives you an even blanker look than usual. (So what, you like Greek-myth-based card games aimed at ten year olds.)

"Hello?" you wave your hand in front of Jason's face and his eyebrows scrunch.

You follow his gaze and your heart sinks a little. Your smile gets wider.

"So, you're checking Leo out? he's cute," you nudge Jason.

And he is, in his own impish elf way, with the upturned nose and fiery eyes that scream mischief. And man, the way he vomits out answers like "Hello, ma'am. Yes, this is a turbo engine 5000 that functions on nucleic acid, care to purchase it on a lay-way plan?" boggles your mind. Maybe Jason finds it endearing; at the very least Leo's passion is admirable.

"What?! No!" Jason splutters, "well, yeah he is, but noーthat's not why I was looking at him."

You frown. "Then why were you?"

Jason fumbles with his hands and pretends his sneakers are the Mona Lisa. "It's justーyesterday in the break room, watching you and Leo play Mythomagic...He was nearly as good as you. I don't know, I guess I'm a little jealous?"

You reach for Jason's hands and force him to look you in the eyes.

"Seriously?" you ask, and Jason

grimaces.

A sigh escapes your lips and in your best I'm-talking-to-a-small-child voice you explain very slowly, "As much as I like Mythomagic strategy, I like spending time with you more."

* * *

The third time comes when Jason's over at your place nursing a warm beer and taking up more than his share of the couch. He spends a considerable amount of time at your apartment, and after the initial "Why is it so dark in here?" (it's better that way), things have been surprisingly comfortable.

His legs are unceremoniously draped over yours, and he claims it's just a space issue, but his head is resting heavily on your shoulder. You like it.

Jason's eyes are glazed over a staring at late-night TV; his chest is rising and falling. You can feel his exhale on your neck, ghosting and barely present, but still alive. It reminds you of your relationship with a particular mushy dorkface.

Something's buzzing a little too much in your veins, and it's hard to blame the alcohol. Jason is practically on top of you by this point, half mewling, half coy, and something in you snaps. His thigh is pressing against your lap a little too hard, a little too warm, and when he shifts it's all you can do not to bunch your fists.

You sort of hate Jason for 8 reasons:

1) He's not your type. Like at all. You're freaking Nico di Angelo; people are legitimately afraid to approach you on the street. You aren't supposed to like half-lidded, whimpering, pretty things.

2) You have no idea if Jason likes you. He's been sending signals, (or at least you think so?) but there's this taunting part of you that understands the improbability. Knowing smiles and cheeky one-liners only go so far. Why would Jason like someone like you?

3) Jason might not even be gay. Sure, he mentioned Leo was cute, but anyone with eyes and a brain can tell when someone is attractive. For all you know, Jason could be a hetero fuckboy.

4) He's irritatingly goodーlikesuperhumanly so. He's the type of person who sees litter on the sidewalk and actually stops to pick it up. He's the type of person to run back into a burning building to make sure everyone made it out (no joke, he has a plaque above his fireplace.) Jason Grace acts with unquestionable goodness and asks for nothing in return. It's kind of annoying.

5) Dear gods, he's so hot. And maybe there's a little favouritism, but honestly, he could get like five blowjobs a day with the amount of people worshiping him. You wish you were exaggerating.

6) He influences you so much. (Is virtue contagious?) Like the other 99% of the world that doesn't consistently act like an angel, you sometimes do bad things. But recently, you've started catching yourself doing the minorly awful things. And thanks to Jason circling around for an embarrassingly long time in your thoughts, only about half the customers that ask you for help end up filing a complaint form.

7) He actually gives a damn about you. And this one hurts a little, because there's a pretty blurry line between Jason's normal do-good personality and genuine concern. Sometimes he hugs you from behind when you look a little chilly, and those good-morning-I'm-looking-forward-to-seeing-you texts have got to count for something. Hopefully.

8) Jason fucking Grace

8a) Literally, the whole of him.

You're pissed, quite frankly. This boy makes you bend. You don't have the time to wait around while he sorts out his feelings (read: you shouldn't want to.) Some sort of burnt flavour fills your mouth. He wouldn't lead you on like this, right? Right?

There's a red flash and a split second decision. A hand snakes around Jason's neck (wait, is it yours?); tired eyes meet a sleepy pair, and fleetingly, inexplicably, those same pouty, scarred lips are pressed against yours.

It feels racy and risky and raunchy. It feels right.

Until it doesn't.

Jason widens his lips and you're about to congratulate yourself; he's reciprocating, holy crap. The second you think you're in the clear, a sharp elbow prods your chest and there's a startling disconnect, and not just of the lips. A resonating "What?" shoots nausea through the pit of your stomach. Jason shimmies off of you and backs as far as possible into the other corner of the couch. You cringe at the loss of heat and suddenly feel very, very cold.

And this is when you decide that, yes, you really do hate yourselfーevery shitty impromptu decision, every moment you allowed yourself to care, and every hour you believed Jason cared as well. How the hell are you gonna get out of this one?

"Shit," you mutter, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Oh my gods, Jason, I'm so sorry. I just kinda fucking thought thatーshit." You bite your tongue to stem the hysterics from spilling out. "Christ."

Jason gapes at you.

"I just didn't know that...for fuck's sake, Jace, you know I wouldn't come onto you if I didn't think you wanted it." You swipe at your eyes.

Any inkling of bravado vanishes and you're back at square one, a slender Italian boy with a tomato face and a strong gravitation towards a life spent under a rock, safe from all social interaction.

You're crying now, and you can feel hot tears pulsing down your face, and you can't stop. You're not sure if you want to. Some sort of phrase settles and dies on your tongue. The end result is a strangled "fuck" because really, fuck.

"It's just," your voice turns bitter, "I like you. And I couldn't deal with you being nice to me."

"Will you cut it out?" Jason says, and it's the angriest you've ever heard him.

You furiously scrub your eyes. "Yeah." A half-hearted laugh escapes. "Yeah."

Your voice reclaims some of it's mirth, "You know I hate crafts and DIY anyway Jace, I'll just quit and leave you alone--"

"Like I'm not joking, Shut the fuck up." Jason deadpans.

You stare at him. You wonder how painful the we-can-totally-stay-friends speech is going to be.

Jason hesitates, "Truth is di Angelo, I don't know if you should be with someone like me." Here it comes, you think.

"I mean, you're so clever and loyal and-and you have your whole life ahead of you. I just smile a lot. I don't want to hinder your potential."

It's an understatement to say you're taken aback.

"What the hell?!" You're really struggling to understand the part where Jason thinks he's hindering you.

"I know, I know; it's stupid, and you probably hate me for leading you on, but I couldn't help myself and I hope you'll find it in yourself to forgiveー"

"So you're saying you like me?"

"I thought I made that part clear," Jason murmurs.

"You're delirious, and you owe me a kiss..." you smirk, and the last of your impulse makes it's cameo.

"...and aisle 12 has some really nice carpeting I'd like to be laid down on."

* * *

 (After-hours sex is probably the most immoral Jason Grace has ever done, but what can you say? He really loves his boyfriend.)


End file.
